A Soulful Tale
by Camiella
Summary: First Harry has to deal with the strange markings growing on his body. Then he finds out his psychotic nemesis is his soulmate. Only Harry's life could be such a dramatic mess- but he's taking a stance and doing things his way. UPDATE: Chapter 1 has been revised and expanded


**Author's notes: **Rating may be subject to change with future action.

**Update:** This chapter was originally just the prologue, but it's been edited and merged with what was planned for chapter 1.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

**The Catalyst **

_(noun. A person or thing that causes a sudden change)_

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><p>Harry's blood was on fire.<p>

His muscles were burning as he panted, stumbled and forced his body to just run another stretch, dodge another strike…

On his heels snapped the fifty foot basilisk as it slithered in twists and turns after Harry. Yet its speed seemed oddly sluggish, as if the great serpent was being held back by an invisible leash. It was strange, yet Harry could hardly afford to ponder- a slowed basilisk was by no means a tame friendly pet.

It hardly helped that Riddle's mouth was marring into a deeper and deeper scowl with every missed lunge of the basilisk's jaws. After a few futile minutes of the almost comical cat and mouse game, Harry heard Riddle hiss lowly, _"§ Such disobedience in carrying out your task…§"_

Both serpent and boy automatically froze at the sheer malice in those words. Harry slowly dragged his exhausted body to face the phantom of Tom Riddle. The latter raised his hand with a now smoothed face, palm up towards the basilisk.

His eyes were like black thunder.

Uh oh. He was furious.

"_§I command you to KILL HIM! §"_

The power of the words shook the Chamber itself and dust crumbled from the ceiling. From Riddle's hand a heavy cloud of darkness emerged and wrapped around the basilisk like a shroud. Harry watched in horrified fascination and shivered at the Dark magic pulsing from the haze in suffocating waves.

The effect was immediate. As if a switch had been flipped, the basilisk rushed forward with no hesitation at Harry. Riddle let out a morbid triumphant chuckle from where he loomed over Ginny's pale body like a grim reaper, and Harry's heart leapt into his throat.

In that split second Harry could feel his blood pulse out as if it was calling for help. Almost instantaneously, as if answering the call, Fawkes swept from above in a majestic trail of fire and flew to Harry. The next few minutes flashed by and soon the basilisk lay dead, Riddle's diary stabbed to inky death and Harry bleeding to death from his poisoned arm.

Harry felt the venom from the basilisk sapping his strength. His body felt boneless and limp. His arm seared as blood was pooling around him at an alarming rate.

He wished he could see his friends for one last time to say goodbye, but at least he had saved Ginny. At least his death wouldn't be in vain. He had done what he came for, like a true Gryffindor.

Closing his eyes, Harry began to slip into unconsciousness. He must have already passed on to his parents for he could feel warm hands carding through his hair. It felt like someone was pressed against his side with a comforting aura like a kindling fire. A pause. Then hot drops of liquid were falling on his wounded arm. It was rejubilating, sinking deep into his arm, purifying his bloodstream of basilisk venom in a flare of heat and knitting the torn flesh together.

Harry breathed in raggedly like a drowning man surfacing to the air. He bolted up into a sitting position and wildly scanned his eyes in search for the person who had been beside him. Nothing.

A strange disappointment welled up in Harry's heart but he quickly dismissed it. The stranger must have been a figment of his imagination. A musical trill startled Harry from his thoughts and he saw Fawkes bent over his arm with wet eyes.

"Fawkes…you're crying…" Harry murmured with wide eyes. "Did your tears you heal me?"

Harry had no idea how, but it was the only possibility he could think of. The beautiful bird bowed his head submissively into Harry's palm, nudged it and trilled.

"Thank you Fawkes," Harry breathed out. He was alive! He could see Ron and Hermione again, and see Dumbledore's proud twinkling smile.

Fawkes let out another, pleased musical trill and shuffled his fiery plumage with dignified satisfaction. A startled laugh slipped out of Harry's lips and he smiled. Everything was going to be okay.

Looking back, that was the day Harry began wearing long sleeves around everyone.

His arm had healed into a long, shimmering silver scar.

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><p>It was the summer before Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts. To be precise, it was a boiling, unbearably hot summer with not a drop of rain or whisp of breeze.<p>

Typically in Britain, people would rush outside joyfully at the mildest of warm sunshine to celebrate the break from the usual rain all year. This summer was a rare exception- not a soul was outside sunbathing or sitting on their grass lawns. The heat was truly beyond scorching.

It was a hardly a surprise that Aunt Petunia had Harry outside weeding the garden all day.

Harry fell back on his knees with a huff as the dandelion he had been pulling at refused to budge. He wiped his brow with his arm, his sweat clinging to his skin, and accidentally pushed his sleeve back. Harry's eyes widened and quickly pulled the sleeve down to his fingers with a strong jerk. He was dressed in a ratty, thick woollen jumper, one of Dudley's hand me downs found strewn in the corner of Harry's bedroom. Usually Harry wore one of his school shirts with long sleeves, but his trunk had been quickly locked away as soon as he stepped into Privet Drive.

Wearing a T-shirt wasn't an option, even in the melting hot heat. Was heat fatigue a risk? Yes it was. Was the Dursleys seeing his silver scar on his arm a bigger risk? Ab-so-lutely.

Harry sighed and pressed his lips together in resignation. There was nothing he could do about the scar- all his attempts at glamours just wobbled before breaking into pieces. He had desperately searched for a book in Hogwarts' library on basilisks, phoenix tears, scars or anything remotely related but it was fruitless. Perhaps Harry's search would have been more successful with Hermione's help, but he hadn't breathed a word of his problem to even his closest friends. Something deep inside was urging him to keep it a secret. Besides one unusual scar was more than enough- why give the wizarding world another to fawn over and gain unwanted attention?

With faint fingers, Harry returned to digging out stubborn rooted weeds in the flowerbed. The glaring sun was making his head pound. Harry blinked rapidly. The air was warping into waves of heat, blurring his vision.

Harry blacked out.

The next thing he knew, cold water was being splashed on his face. Harry spluttered and let out a parched, chocked sound from the back of throat. His eyelids fluttered open to see a thin, bony hand holding an empty glass. He shook his head and looked back up to find Aunt Petunia's frowning face peering down at Harry. Her cheeks were oddly white and a deluded thought drifted to mind if they were as cool to touch as marble.

"Drink," Aunt Petunia snapped and a now full glass of water was pushed towards him on the checkered kitchen table. Harry reached out and chugged down the water. It was blessedly cold, as if it was delivered from the Artic itself. Within moments the last drop had fallen down Harry's constricted throat. He gripped the glass between his hands to soak in the fading coolness, and glanced around. The kitchen, seated on a wooden chair. Oh. Harry must have fainted, and Aunt Petunia must have dragged him inside.

Oh no. Here it would come now.

"Unbelievable," Aunt Petunia reprimanded in a high pitched tone, snatching the glass out of his hands and pushing him mercilessly out into the corridor. "Causing a scene like that, and in front of the house too! What have the neighbours thought if they saw?!"

Harry would have liked to think they would have at least given him more than one glass of water, but he didn't dare voice this suggestion. Being given water was an unexpected leniency in itself, at least for Aunt Petunia. Maybe she wasn't in such a bad mood today? Her face really was whiter than usual.

"And how could you wear _that_ outside? Deliberately causing trouble for me and this household-"

There was a horrible, abrupt silence. Aunt Petunia had jerked Harry towards his old bedroom under the cupboard.

By his jumper sleeve.

It had rolled up and now his arm was exposed as clear as daylight. The scar was now glowing silver and Harry felt a sickening grip in his stomach. Aunt Petunia's mouth was opening and closing in breathless gasps as her wide eyes were glued to Harry's arms. The little colour in her skin left in a rush and she crumpled to the floor in a faint.

Of course _that_ was when Uncle Vernon decided to arrive home.

The front door swung open to show Uncle Vernon frozen in the doorway, one step still outside. Harry wanted to throw up. He could practically see the how it looked from Uncle Vernon's eyes. His wife, pale and in an unconscious heap. Harry above her, with his arm still stuck poised in mid-air and scar shining an unearthly silver.

Harry couldn't move when Uncle Vernon's face progressed from red to purple to an alarming white from sheer rage. He couldn't move when the first blow came down, nor the second, nor the third. Harry had been locked up, denied meals, given scraps of food, and more. This though was the first time that his Uncle had resorted to physical violence.

An adult's hits were far more painful and brutal than anything he had suffered under Dudley and his friends.

This thought pushed Harry's limbs into movement, into curling into a ball and vainly trying to shield himself. It hurt like nothing Harry had felt before. Tears rushed down his face and Harry couldn't stop the cries escaping his lips, begging his Uncle to stop.

He wanted it to stop, stop, just _stop_!

Without warning his scar on his arm flashed out from his skin into a brilliant silver shield, and hurtled Uncle Vernon into the opposite wall.

Then Harry fell back and lost consciousness for the second time that day.


End file.
